It Wasn't Love at First Shalini and I

by Prashant Sharma

  Next it was Nidhi, Kriti’s roommate’s turn to hand her the ring. There was again the music but there was no jig from Nidhi. She just walked up, gave the ring to Kriti and went back, without even a hint of a thing called a smile or emotion. But here reaction led to a big smile on Kriti’s face. She had succeeded in mission ‘jealousy.’ Girls.

  Kriti really wanted to take the traditional Christian route so now it was the time for the wedding vows. Hari had helped me prepare mine, in fact, he had prepared mine, so I did not expect any miracles. It was decided that Kriti would read them first and I would follow. But she apparently got stage fright and nudged me to go first. And then I got stage fright.

  All of a sudden, all eyes were on me. All this while, all the eyes had been on Kriti as she was the one who was looking so breathtakingly beautiful and I was the lucky one who just happened to be there to complete the couple. But now, everyone was staring at me. And I had to speak.

  I had memorised the lines a million times. I wanted to surprise Kriti with the vows. I knew I could not really write anything worthwhile, so I had thought that I might as well memorise the lines instead of reading them from a sheet of paper. But I was standing on the stage shell shocked for a complete ten seconds with every eye on me. Even the panditji, who was looking haggard so far, looked at me with expecting eyes.

  Then I looked at Hari. He was for some reason pointing at his chest. I then remembered that as an afterthought, he had out the piece of paper along with my handkerchief in the breast pocket of my three piece. He really was the ‘best’ man. He had saved the day. I then confidently took out the sheet of paper. I opened it and tore it into pieces and I started.

  “You know what Kriti, I had written a lot of romantic things on this piece of paper. But honesty, all those were just words, words which made me look good and made you look pretty. They were words which would lead to some ‘awws’ and ‘ohhs’ from the girls here in the crowd, but they are more a result of google search on wedding wows by me and my great friend Hari rather than what I really think about you.”

  Hari waved to the crowd as if he had completed a test century and got another look from his wife.

  “So let me start with the real reasons on why I am marrying you. Let me speak straight from the heart, and as you say, I don’t really do that very often, so let me try here. First of all, Kriti, I have known you for more than four months now and honestly speaking, I was a little unsure of marriage when we met. It was not about you, it was this feeling that every guy gets before he settles into a life of lifelong commitment. But with each passing day, as I got to know you, I realised that this was the reason I was still 30 years old and not married. All my life I had been waiting for you.”

  I could see a little tear in her eye. Whatever I had said was not overly romantic, but I think it was the situation and the very fact that I was speaking which got to her.

  “Every little detail about you makes me want to spend the rest of my life with you. Remember the day my car broke down, and you haggled with the auto driver for five rupees. That day I was sure that you could manage, in fact you could make us both manage, even if I stop earning from today itself. The way you made me shape up to fit into the marriage photos, made me sure that you will always take care of my health using one pretext or the other. The way you looked at me when we decided on the wedding rings made me sure that no one else’s smile could make me so happy. And the way you look not only now, but every day, further makes me sure what a good wife you will be.”

  I heard a cheers and a wow from the crowd on the last line.

  “Kriti, this is the first time I am actually saying this, and I know it would have been far more romantic and personal if it were just the two of us in this room and not 200.”

  I heard a “Our eyes are closed. You love birds can do anything you want.” This evoked a few laughs in the crowd and even brought a smile to the teary eyes of Kriti.

  “Kriti, I love you. Will you give me the honour of waking up with you every morning, will you give me the honour, of making breakfast for you, of having Italian food with you, the honour of being forced to goto the gym because of you, the honour of seeing that smile in your eyes every passing moment, the honour of calling you my wife.”

  And she broke down. Before anyone else could say anything, Hari came and gave me a big hug. “Marry him Kriti or honestly, I will. Believe me, there were stories in college and not all of them were false.”

  This evoked some more laughs from the crowd and a teary eyed Kriti just nodded and I put the finger on her ring.

  “And not to forget that you are so damn beautiful.”

  More cheers and it was now her turn. She started to speak, but the tears would just not stop. She tried again, and more tears. I went ahead and took her in my arms and there was applause from the crowd. She then took charge over herself and started.

  “I don’t know when, how or where it happened. It wasn’t love at first, but love, just happened. Maybe it was the day I saw you, or maybe it was the day you started listening to me.”

  She gave a mischievous smile from behind those tears and I reciprocated with one as well.

  “In fact it was the day you started listening to me that I decided that I want to marry you. Hehe. But on a more serious, and true note, I knew it was you after the first time we went out. You treated me not like a girl, but like a lady. Every small little thing you did, and still do, like opening the door for me, wait for me to be seated before you sit, always pass the menu to me first. Above all, it is these little things that a girl looks for in her partner. She looks for respect, and then she looks for love. That is the path you followed.

  Even I had so much written in so many sheets of paper for this very moment, but as you said, I will also speak straight from the heart. The day your car broke down and I haggled with the auto driver, I noticed that you spent almost the whole night at the mechanic to ensure that such a thing never happens again, the day you started sweating it out in the gym to get into shape for today’s pic, I knew that you will do anything to make me happy, the way you looked at me when I finally selected the wedding ring after days and days of shopping made me sure that no matter what, you will always hang in there for me. And the way you look at me not only now, but every day, further makes me sure what a great husband you will be. I have said this many times before, but mainly in front of the mirror and never in front of you. And I really don’t care if there are 200 people in this room or just the two of us because no moment could be more romantic. I love you.”

  There was a huge applause from everyone present and she placed the ring on my finger.

  That was it, we were officially engaged now. Just then all the lights went out. I heard Hari’s voice over the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, as a tribute to the very dashing to be groom and way out of his league beautiful to be bride, we have prepared a little something for them.”

  A screen appeared out of nowhere and music started playing and photographs from my childhood started appearing. It was a collage of all my greatest memories- graduation pics, pics when I got my first job, my first paycheque, my first gift to my mother with my first paycheque, admission to the business school, graduation from b school, the day I met Kriti for the first time etc. Then there was a similar collage of her photographs with similar details.

  It was beautiful, and just like that, the evening was over. I was engaged. As the engagement was more of a family affair with no alcohol, atleast no alcohol officially, I had to take my friends out for a drink to celebrate the end of my freedom. It was an only guys night out and Kriti jokingly asked me to stay away from Hari and left to be with her parents. There were 8 of us guys and we went to a new bar which had just opened in Gurgaon. It supposedly had great live music and a great blend of cocktails. We settled into the bar and ordered a round of drinks. All lights then went out and all the focus shifted to the stage. Apparently some locally famous singer from US was playing. She had recently started making a mark on the
American stage. The lights went out, and then all of them shone at one bright spot on the stage.

  She was in a black dress. She was fair, had a dimpled chin which gave a something special to her smile, long eyelashes, curly at the end, like a princess would want them, kajal around her eyes, kajal to keep away the bad omen from her beautiful face, a small parrot nose, which twitched when she frowned, and black flowing hair, which I would later know, she thought were brown.

  It was Shalini.

  1992

  T

  he first time I met Shalini was in the early nineties when twelve year old boys still had innocence and girls still had the elusive charm.

  After a whole torturous year, class seven was finally over. Kids say that they gradually start liking school as they grow old, but that is not true. They actually start liking the girls they goto school with. And as girls grow from class 5 to class 10, they obviously look better. School just happens to be there. School is like the necessary evil, like milk in chocolate milk.

  But my life had always been screwed up. So I had gone to an all boys school in a small but pretty little town up north. The only thing that grew in that school was my, and other boy’s, moustache and beard. And we did not shave, so it hung around, just beneath our faces, like the nest of a very little bird.

  So basically, I hated school. I hated getting up, I hated getting ready, I hated taking out my bike, even though I used to like riding it at other times, I used to hate getting late, I used to hate the punishment on getting late, I used to hate the morning assembly, I used to hate the bullies, I used to hate the nerds.

  So I guess you get it that I basically hated everything about school. But now it was over, over for a month atleast. I had passed class seven, had done decently if not too well in the exams that happen after every class. My parents were happy, I had actually outdone my best performance with respect to rank in the class, and I was happy, as my parents were happy which meant I would now sleep till late, ride my bike with the destination not being the school gates, play out in the field for much longer durations, not fake studying when at home, read books (comics) out of will rather than force.

  Nothing could beat the holidays that come after exams are over. You still do not have the new class books, so your parents really can’t make you study, and school starts after around a month. Life gets into good shape. It was during the long break after class seven that my parents decided to take me out on a holiday. In fact a holiday had been used as a bait for me over the last two months to get me to study. We were not very rich people. As was the custom in the days when they got married, my mother was a house wife while my father ran a provision store. The store did well enough to feed the three of us, and the earning had to be stretched to ensure that I went to a good school, but it never made enough to allow the little luxuries like holidays. My mother was looking forward to the holiday much more than I was. She was so happy when I got a good result. The entire year she had spent threatening me, loving me, and using all other methods which only a mother can, to make me study had borne fruit, and she was going on a holiday. Life was good. In fact, the last holiday I remember we had was when I was in class 2, so it really had been a long time.

  This was a time of celebration. I had achieved what my parents had hoped for, I had got good marks and a decent rank in the class and the dreams of middle class Indian parents are restricted to only that, that their children study and lead an honest life and have the same dreams for their children. That was the reason for the expensive school. My parents wanted to give their best shot at my education, and hoped, that I would too. And looking at the results, I had not disappointed them.

  Even though school was over and the next class had not yet started, my father would not let me sit at his provision store. He always thought that I was meant for something bigger. So my mother and I would sit at home the whole day and would discuss where we would go and what all we would do. The very mention of a holiday had brought a bigger smile to the ever jovial face of my mother and I shared her excitement. We both, after days of deliberation had finally decided Bombay as our destination.

  Both of us loved hindi movies, even though we did not get to watch too many, and Bombay was our Mecca. But then, one day something happened that changed the plan. Dad came home late one day and told us that one of his creditors had run away from town. He did not owe dad too much money, but I looked at my mom and I could see the stars in them dimming. She looked at me and regained composure the way only a mother can. She told my father that we could forgo the holiday. And she said it with so much conviction and without a hint of remorse, just like a wife can, to make her husband feel better. The holiday was what she had looked forward to for the last couple of months, or maybe even years, and she was being denied that. My dad looked down. He was a good man who had always wanted to keep his family happy. And he had succeeded so far in life and there was no way he was going to let us down this time. He told us that he would lend some money and would take us out. Not as far as we had wanted to go, but to New Delhi, the capital of our country.

  My dad went to the railway reservation counter the very next day so that no other creditor could have a say in our holiday. We were to leave in four days and never had I seen my mother so excited. In fact, never had I seen myself so excited. After 4 long days and even longer nights, the day was finally here. I packed all my good clothes, a pair of jeans, a cap, sunglasses, some t shirts and I was ready. Then my mother packed in some more of my stuff and I was really ready. My mother also packed all her good clothes and she was also ready. My dad packed a smile, and that was what that holiday meant to him, satisfaction for his family.

  We lived in a small town and the railway station was no more than 20 minutes from our place, but we still reached 2 hours before the scheduled departure. My mother and I were all dressed up, I had a cap on and sun glasses which were too big for my face. I thought I looked like the most handsome guy in the world and if no one else, atleast my mother would agree to that. In full excitement we got off the rickshaw that had been carrying us only to learn that the train was 3 hours late. We could have easily gone back home and could have come back well within time but my dad decided that the holiday had begun, so we stuck around.

  Luckily, it wasn’t too hot that day and I went around, exploring the place. I think I used to act a little too young for my age, or maybe it was the nineties, but I still got my kicks by climbing up and running down stairs and running after dogs or cows or whatever animals. My parents had found a bench and were sitting there while I was upto my usual banter. I wandered off and returned 10 minutes later to my parents, cap in hand and sunglasses in pocket. My parents had apparently made some friends and I was introduced to them.

  Dad: “Beta, say hi to Sharma uncle. Like us, he is also going to Delhi on a holiday.”

  I scowled. I did not want a new uncle to tag around in my holiday which I had achieved. But I was a nice boy, so I folded my hands and said Namaste.

  Sharma uncle: “Beta, which class are you in. Class 5?”

  Okay, I did look young for my age. But class five? I mean, come on. I looked at my mother. I know she knew what I wanted to say“Why don’t you let me shave so that I can look atleast my age if not older?”

  To be honest to her, I hardly had any facial hair. She understood and tried to save the day.

  Mom: “No bhaisaab, he has just passed class seven. And he has done very well in his exams.”

  She added the last part to make me happy. But the damage had been done. I looked as if I was in class five. I saw a dog and was about to leave the scene of embarrassment and play with the dog when Uncle’s Aunty came from the restroom, a big bag on one side and Shalini on the other.

  That was the first time I saw her. That was the first time she saw me.

  She was in a pink dress. She was fair, had a dimpled chin which gave a something special to her smile, long eyelashes, curly at the end, like a princess would want them, kajal around her eyes, kajal to k
eep away the bad omen from her beautiful face, a small parrot nose, which twitched when she frowned, and black flowing hair, which I would later know, she thought were brown.

  And I was sweaty from playing with the stairs, smelly by running after, and finally catching the animals, had my cap in my hand and my sunglasses in my pocket. I pulled out my glasses and wore my cap. I had to make a good first impression and I somehow hoped the oversized cap and glasses would help.

  They really didn’t.

  I was introduced to aunty and Shalini was introduced to my parents. We were not introduced to each other though. As it turned out, Shalini Sharma studied at an all girls school. She lived in a town a couple of hundred kms from our place and was changing trains to goto Delhi for their holiday. She was a year younger to me and was in class six (her father thought I was in class five but that is besides the point). I had never seen her before in my life but I was sure that I would really want to see her many more times. The two families sat at the bench and the elders started talking. Her father also had some small business and her mother was also a house wife. So they had their common interests. I on the other hand had never interacted with a girl in my life and the girl I wanted to interact with at that point in time did not seem very interested.

  I kept the glasses on. They helped me stare at her without being caught. There was a certain uneasiness in the Sharma family but I did not pay much head to it. Time flew by, I did not care about the puppies, and cows and cats around me, all I did was stare. And then the train came and we got onto our different coaches.